


All Across

by makingitwork



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Star Trek, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Office (UK), The Other Boleyn Girl - Philippa Gregory
Genre: Angst, Aw I just love John and Sherlock, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Multiple Universes Colliding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 13:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3652464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock always find each other, it doesn't matter when or where, or even if one of them is a dragon, or a hobbit, or a super soldier from back in time in a frozen pod, or the King's counsellor, or an office worker- or even a consulting detective with his blogger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Across

“Sherlock,” John pressed his palm against his forehead in annoyance “We are soulmates, you know? You’d think if I asked you to take a decapitated head out of the fridge, you might do that for me. You know. Your soul mate.”

Sherlock shot John a grin, before returning to his microscope “Where else do I keep a head, John? Molly might come looking for it. No one suspects the fridge.”

“Everyone suspects the fridge, you ridiculous man.” John pulls the milk out, and presses a fond, exasperated kiss to Sherlock’s temple, before flicking the kettle on. “Tea?”

Sherlock hides his smile, and nods.

The consulting detective has never been happier. He watches John make them both some tea, and then watches him settle down beside his laptop, browsing the newspaper. Soulmates. In this world, where everyone is reborn again and again during different times, and universes, if you find your soulmate once, the chances are, you’d find them again. Sherlock can’t wait. Because in your next life, you don’t remember the past one till you meet your soulmate.

And when he’d met a once John Hamish Watson, no memories of a previous life came to him, which meant that this was his first life, and that meant there were many more to come. John made him so happy, and when they run after criminals, hand in hand, Sherlock knows they’ll do this throughout time and space. “John,” he calls, as his phone buzzes “Case.”

John yawns, snuggling further into the chair “Do we have to?”

“Of course we do. Come along John, the game is afoot.” Later, hours later, they collapse into bed, feeling pretty good, the rush of adrenaline ebbing away slowly. Sherlock allows himself to be collected into John’s arms, and the darkness overwhelms them. “I’m glad you’re my soulmate.” Sherlock whispers “I’m glad we’ll…always be together. In a thousand different realities.”

John ruffles his hair “Whose affectionate at 3 in the morning, then?”

“Shut up.”

***

Bilbo swallows. He treads slowly, carefully, the gold sliding beneath his feet making it impossible to be stealthy. He isn’t the quiet little hunter everyone wants him to be, but he’s trying his best.

“I can _heeaarr_ you,” Smaug hisses, and the coins crash around him like the breaking of a wave “I can _smmeelll_ you, little creature. What are you? Where are you?”

Bilbo doesn’t make a sound, he stands perfectly still, hand clenched into a fist, so the ring can’t slip away from him. His hair is matted and sweaty, and he curses himself. The dragon will be able to smell this. There’s no way out. The cave is lit by the reflection of millions of coins and jewels and emeralds, and Bilbo has to be clever. His voice shakes; “Oh Smaug, the s-stupendous. The legends were right about you.”

Smaug stops moving, his face comes in so close to Bilbo, those eyes, those eyes seeing, but not seeing. “Reveal yourself, _thief.”_

Bilbo pulls off the ring, and tucks it into his pocket.

Smaug positively grins, rising up “In all of my years, I have never seen a creature like you. Too small to be a dwarf. More sweet smelling too. What are you?” his voice is low, and delicious and Bilbo swallows

“I-I am a Hobbit. By the name of Bilbo Baggins from Bag-End.”

Smaug inhales “And they’ve sent _you_ here to steal from me? A tiny Hobbit?” he winds around Bilbo, long body trapping him “I rather like you, little thief. I’d like to keep you.”

Bilbo stutters, looking around for an escape “A-ah n-no thanks. Gotta get back. Party waiting for me-“

Smaug leans in close, and Bilbo stumbles forward on the shifting coins, and his hands come into contact with Smaug’s face, and they both _scream._ A rush of memories flooding back to them. Cold tea. Late nights. An intervening brother.

Bilbo stumbles back, falling down, looking up with wide eyes “A-a previous life.” He murmurs, looking at his hands, and Smaug coils around him tighter, protectively

“A soulmate.” He murmurs “Oh Bilbo Baggins, you are staying here with me.”

Bilbo swallows thickly “Yes. Yes I suppose I am.”

***

Tim Canterbury is bored.

His computer isn’t working, and he’s fairly sure Gareth is the reason why, so he decides to get himself a cup of coffee from the break room. Only there’s someone in there. Someone he doesn’t recognise, fiddling with the water dispenser. “Uh hiya,” Tim smiles “You’ve got to-“ he raps hard on the bottle, and water comes out into the man’s plastic cup.

He’s tall, and wiry, with shiny blond hair. “Thank you, very much. I haven’t been here very long, just getting into how things work.”

Tim laughs “Yeah, you look pretty new.” The man arches an eyebrow curiously. “Nah I just mean- you make the rest of us look like slobs.” And this man does, in a nice new suit, with his smart hair, when everyone else has been beaten down by the very nature of Slough and everything it represents. “I’m Tim, by the way. Director of Sales.”

“Ah yes, Gareth told me about you.” He rubs the back of his neck “I imagined you to be grotesquely ugly by his descriptions.”

Tim groaned “Let me guess- I look like a Fisher Price man?”

The man chuckled “That is what he said. I’m Mark,” they get to talking, and Tim shows him the ropes. Shows him how to prank Gareth, and they laugh about it, and at the end of the day, they both go down to a pub. “So how long have you worked there then?”

“Too long,” Tim sighs “I only wanted to be there for a bit, wanted to go back to Uni, get a degree in Psychology. Never did though.”

“You still can,” Mark offers, and Tim notes he’s got nice brown eyes.

“Nah, I won’t. I’ve recognised I’m a lazy sod.”

Mark laughs. “I don’t think you’re lazy,” he says, clapping Tim on the shoulder, and both of them freeze. They don’t cause a scene, or make a fuss, they just pull apart and look at each other, before Tim laughs weakly

“Well it seems our third life is the most boring. Detectives and dragons, huh?”

“Oh I don’t know,” Mark murmurs, taking a sip of his beer “I think it just got a lot more interesting.”

***

“Could you put your hand through the hole please?” John asks, and Khan looks at him. “Just for a blood sample.”

“Red shirt.” Khan murmurs, making no move to come closer to the glass “That means head of a department, and yet you’re not a fighter. Don’t have the heart for it.”

“Head Doctor.” John says tiredly “Just a blood sample, Khan. Stick your arm through.”

Khan comes closer to the glass, he looks down. He’s handsome. Intimidating, but definitely handsome, with cropped dark hair, and a strong physique, and that jaw bone. John feels unworthy, but then remembers he’s on-board the enterprise. “You’re a difficult man to gauge.” Khan murmurs, he cocks his head, examining John “I feel…drawn to you, in a way I have felt to no other.”

John squirms “Arm.”

“What is your second name, Doctor..?”

“Harrington.”

“How long have you been aboard this ship?”

“Many years.” John’s getting tired, he’s been on duty all day, and he wants to lie down “Please, Khan. Your arm.”

Khan does, he lifts his shirt sleeve, and slides is through the hole, and John holds it firm to take some blood. And when he does, they both look at each other. John staggers back, eyes wide, and he shakes his head.

“No. No, you’re the bad guy-“

“No guy is ever really bad. There’s always reason, and motive, and you are _mine.”_

John is shaking, and Kirk rounds the corner, takes in the scene, and rushes to John’s aid “You alright, Doctor Harrington?”

“He-he’s….” He clings to Kirk, and Khan lets out a snarl

“Don’t touch him!” Khan roars, and Kirk stares, his arms wrapping around John

“What did you do to hi-“

“Don’t touch my _mate!”_

Kirk stares at him, before hauling John away, as Khan _yells_ for his mate.

Until that night. As the enterprise is sleeping, John creeps to the cell, he looks hopelessly guilty, and he’s got a coding machine, and he’s sticking it to the glass. Khan sits up. “You’re breaking me out.” He whispers, and John flinches

“Please. Don’t talk to me. I’m going to set you free and you’re going to run, and we’re going to pretend we never met-“

“You’re going to forget our past lives? Doctor Harrington, do you know how rare soulmates are? We were lucky enough to find ours in our first life-“

“No talking.” He types something in, and the glass shatters like rain, soundlessly around them. Khan steps out, and looks down at him.

“Come with me.”

John shakes, his body thrums “Where?”

“Everywhere.”

“Yeah,” John breathes “Yeah, god yeah, let’s go.”

And they do.

***

William Carey was tired. Everything made him so tired, and with a heavy heart he realised that nothing in that god forsaken palace with that god forsaken King with his disgusting plot to only have a son, there was no good left there anymore. And yet he was trapped. He wiped his tears, and trotted along on his horse throughout the Kingdom, when down an old and weary and deserted lane, where the grass was over growing onto the side of civilisation, he saw a soldier.

“Soldier!” He called “Where are you going?”

The solider looked up, and instantly fell to his knees “Your Highness,” he bowed lowly “I am wounded. I am the last of my platoon-“

“Platoon?” Carey frowned “Of what war? We are fighting no war, soldier.”

“A battle. A battle, and our King told us not he had called it off. We fought, and we fought, and many are dead.”

Carey wanted to be sick. “Soldier, this Kingdom is deluded, and this King disgusting by any respect. Let me tend to your wound, I have supplies.” He climbed down from his horse, and the soldier sat down upon the dusty ground gratefully. He lifted up his trouser leg, to reveal the wound on his ankle. Though not impairing his walking, it looked deep and painful. Carey reached for his supplies, sprinkling some water onto the cut, before gently pressing into the edges. And they both shook. Lives crashing into them, and they both met each other’s eyes, and they _laughed._

“Did you see those, your highness?” the soldier exclaimed “Love like that! Technology! I never dreamed it-“

The prince laughed, bandaging up the wound, and letting the soldier sit upon his horse. “I saw them,” he beamed “We’ll return to the palace, gather supplies and another horse, and we’ll travel away. How does that sound?”

The soldier ducked his head, and nodded, his body toned and firm, and the Prince admired him as they returned.

They left that very evening, to a red sunset, each on a horse, loaded with supplies. Laughing about the wonders, and admiring the scenery of a suddenly glorious day.

***

“Sherlock, answer your bloody phone,” John sighs, jogging up to him “Greg’s been calling.”

“Who?”

“Lestrade.” John rolls his eyes “He’s got a case, what are you doing up here anyway? I didn’t even know his place has a roof top terrace.” He looked around Mycroft’s building, humming thoughtfully at the pretty view of London. He took in Sherlock’s silence, and his stance. “Sherlock? What’s wrong?”

Sherlock whirled to face him, eyes watered “John,” he whispered “I have to leave.”

“What do you mean?”

“Moriarty’s network John, he may be dead, but I need to disable it-“

“Okay,” John said softly, with a reassuring smile “That’s fine, we’ll do th-“

“I’m doing it alone, John.”

John stepped back, blue eyes wide and uncertain “But…”

“I’m leaving tonight, and you can’t know where I am. And you’re staying here.”

John’s eyebrows push together “But I want to go with you-“

“John.”

“I’m your soulmate!”

Sherlock presses his lips together, and shrugs helplessly.

John flinches in anger and new found distrust “Well,” he hisses “How long will you be gone?”

“3 years.”

John’s anger dissipates, he wasn’t expecting that long. Pure, unfiltered hurt pours into Sherlock’s heart. “Fine.” John whispers, his voice but an echo “But don’t you dare think, even for a second, that I will be waiting for you to come back.”

“I love you so much-“

John turns away.

Sherlock does leave, and he hates himself for it.

He comes back, though, and his heart yearns for him to make up with his soulmate, just as he wants too. But John isn’t in Baker Street, in fact, Sherlock doesn’t know where he is. And Mycroft, with something akin to guilt, points to an old warehouse, and Sherlock knows what he’ll find here.

John, _his_ John, with all the other junkies, a needle in his arm, and so out of it, his face no longer clean shaven, he doesn’t even recognise Sherlock, who takes him home, bathes him, shaves him, and puts him in their fresh bed. And when John comes down from the high, he cries, and tries to turn away but Sherlock won’t let him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, and I’m back, and I love you, and I will never _never_ leave you again. Throughout all of time, and all of space, I will always look for my John Watson.”

John hugs him so tightly, and nods with a wet face “I know you will. You always come back for me.”

Sherlock laughs in pure relief, holding him tightly “Always.”

It takes a long time for John to forgive him, but he does. And when they pass away, many many happy years later, they simply wake up in a different time, in a different place, with a new purpose, but they always find each other.

And they always live happily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> Any questions? :)  
> x


End file.
